


lamp light and scratchy carpet

by androgynousmikewheeler



Series: intraparty dynamics [3]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/F, Nonbinary Eleven, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:08:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24643090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/androgynousmikewheeler/pseuds/androgynousmikewheeler
Summary: Eleven lies on the floor of Max’s bedroom, captivated by the girl before them.
Relationships: Eleven | Jane Hopper/Maxine "Max" Mayfield
Series: intraparty dynamics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1901788
Comments: 9
Kudos: 32





	lamp light and scratchy carpet

Eleven lies on Max’s short cropped carpet at the end of her bed and closes their eyes. The nylon loops scratch at their cheek and the backs of their thighs. Light seeps through their eyelids, dyeing the flesh a warm red, left brighter than the right. The faint scent of chapstick and hair spray tickles their nose. Rain patters on the roof and the wind makes a lonesome whistle. A song plays through the radio. It’s beautiful, upbeat but a little sad. The music scratches with static, the imperfections somehow adding to the dreamlike moment. Some feeling pushes down on their chest as they listen to Max singing along softly, her feet pounding against the floor. It’s almost like sinking into their head, into their dark place, but instead of falling away from the world around them, they only become more aware of the room, of its noises and smells and textures. And, of course, her. Every atom of Eleven’s body is tuned into the frequency of Max’s softly bouncing dance.

They ease open their eyes to watch Max’s hair whip through the air, a few strands hitting her in the face. It glows softly in the gentle orange light of a lamp, the golden streaks glistening. Eleven’s fingers itch to glide through the fiery waves, but they just stretch their arms over their head, carpet scratching at their knuckles. Max’s movements echo in the glass of her window, a lone streetlamp her spotlight. She sings into a black plastic hairbrush, caught up in some fantasy. Her blue-green eyes are heavy lidded, sparkling from a face full of freckles, which almost disappear into her flushed cheeks. Her smile is wide, showing all her teeth, canines glinting. El can barely breathe watching her.

The song fades away and Max flips her hair one more time. She sighs, the fantasy fading away, smile softening and shoulders relaxing. Max looks down at Eleven and wrinkles her nose. She dives onto the floor beside the bed, their bodies perpendicular. Resting her chin on her scabbed elbows, toes beating against her bedside table, she catches El’s eyes and winks. They look up at her and she looks so beautiful, looks like summer.

Eleven drags themself onto their knees, leaning forward on their hands until their hair mingles with Max’s, noses almost touching. Max’s ocean eyes blink, big and hesitant, framed in light lashes. Eleven’s fingers brush a coppery lock out of her face, and Max leans into the touch, eyes slipping shut.

El’s lips fall open, voice barely a whisperand dripping with desperation as they say, “Max, can I—“

Max lays her hand over Eleven’s and nods, blinking up at them with a rare vulnerability. “Please,” she mouths, a puff of air hitting El’s lips.

El’s eyes drift closed and they lean forward, their noses bumping together. Their eyes flit open to turn their head slightly, lips catching Max’s, smiling into the kiss. Their movements are slow, delicate, as they press their lips to hers.

Max’s lips are warm and dry and a little chapped. She is firm in her kisses, gentle but insistent. She pulls her knees up underneath her and leans into Eleven’s touch, wrapping her hands in their hair.

Eleven sways with the soft pull, heart beating to the pulse of the music, kissing Max completely unlike kissing Mike, soft and exhilarating in ways they’ve never experienced. Their fingers curl behind her ear, pulling Max to them, desperate to have her close. Their lips push and move against hers, and Max takes their bottom lip between hers, running her tongue against it.

Max’s plain chapstick tastes unfamiliar and almost sharp, but El can’t get enough of it, pushing her back onto her ankles. Up close, her shampoo, ambiguously fruity, is almost overwhelming, and the scrunchie around her wrist brushes against Eleven’s face. They lace a thumb underneath the elastic, pulse beating into its pad.

Max pulls away, taking El’s breath with her, even just an inch of separation a loss. Then she smiles up at them, and all hurt is forgotten in the crinkles round her eyes.

Eleven blushes, ducking their head and pulling their hand away, and studies the short loops of the carpeting. “I...” they mutter, but their head is too full of sensation and being the object of that grin to summon any more words.

Max just nods and ruffles Eleven’s hair. “Me too.”


End file.
